


Princess Plegia

by Selador



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selador/pseuds/Selador
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Robin of Plegia wanted to know if Ylisse’s intentions towards peace were true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fell Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the new plegia!au by http://chrobinprompts.tumblr.com/. They have their own story on ao3 as well, but mine takes the idea and goes running. (I also checked with them--concepts are free game).
> 
> (This is another reason why I didn't get to my main fic, I've been obsessed with Fire Emblem! But don't worry, I am never not obsessed with Harry Potter, will go back to it.)

Bandits approached the town, but aside from Robin herself and the decrepit mayor, there were none who had ever been trained in the arts of battle in this small Ylissean town. She glared down at the map presented to her by the mayor, who was old and greying. He had been a sniper in Ylisse’s Holy Army, certainly, but that had been twenty years ago. He could no longer cock a bow without shaking.

(It had been so long since he had retired that he could not have participated in Ylisse’s crusade against Plegia, which made his presence far more palatable.)

The mayor, Petyr, fidgeted where he stood with his cane. “Our village is close enough to the capitol that we never really needed any real defensible spots. Usually a squadron of pegasus riders would be close enough to eradicate any nearby bandits if they ever dared to be this close to the Holy City.”

 _Lovely_ , Robin thought, _but do you see any of those pegasus guards here to save you now?_ She said, “You are incorrect. You do have a defensible location _within_ your town, and that would be your church.” A fortress it was not; but it was stone while the rest of the town was wood. It would not burn, nor burn while trapping its people inside of it, which could only be looked upon as a positive. Bandits were altogether too fond of burning houses to the ground with people trapped inside. “Gather the entire town and take them into the church. Have your able-bodied persons board up the windows and doors, and have the children and frail hide in the basement.” She stood, taking the map with her. “But hopefully, it will not be necessary. I will meet the bandits myself, and hopefully stop them before they even reach the village border.”

She was up and walking, Petyr blanched and called out to her. “Wait, wait, stop, I—I can’t send a lone woman to fight for my town.”

She frowned. “You are not sending me. I decided to go. Gather your people and hide.”

“No,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Hide with us. You’ll meet your death out there.”

She carefully and deliberately removed his hand from her person. “First, do not touch me. Second, I am accomplished in magic and swordfighting. Those bandits did not look to be carrying anything better than bronze and iron weapons. I believe that the likelihood that I can take care of them myself is high. Do as I advised, and hide your people, in case I miss one or two.”

She walked out, faster than an old man with a lame leg could follow, but she heard him call out to the waiting and nervous townsfolk to prepare the church. Good. One less thing to worry about.

There were men in the village, who wanted to help, and tried to join her as she went. “Go to the church, and wait by the entrance. Even you lot should be able to kill the bandits if they come in an orderly file.” Properly offended and chastised, they left her.

Reaching the edge of the town, she took out her monocular, and looked towards the bandits.

There were six of them. Three axe fighters, a myrmidon, a mercenary, and a mage. Still, they were unskilled, and their weapons weak and poor quality. While she could wait until they reach the town for better cover, she didn’t want them to be able to raze it to the ground, and she could easily lose track of them amongst the buildings. There was little cover to be found in the field between them, but alas... a direct confrontation it was.

She strode out to meet them with a sharp blade and lightning bolts.

They saw her soon enough, and one of them, who was the largest of them, with an axe that was possibly made of steel—poor steel, but steel nonetheless—pointed at her, four of them started to run right towards her.

They were rather close together. Too close, in fact, as she got two at once with a single lightning strike, and a third with a second attack.

The fourth, the myrmidon, stopped and did a double at his companions’ scorched and sizzling bodies. He began to run towards her again, fiercer this time and sword bare, but he had taken a second too long—she got him too.

And then there were only three.

They had stopped entirely. She couldn’t see the expressions on their faces, but if they were any kind of decent, they were probably aghast at the destruction she had wrought upon their comrades. But as they were bandits and rapists and thieves, she didn’t hold out much hope.

Or even care that much.

They were, however, out of range. She strode towards them, muttering her incantation.

They turned and ran away. From _her_.

She began to run as well, as the chances they would return to see vengeance upon her or the town were high if they escaped and she really did not need that—

—oh, the two of the bandits were just skewered on that great knight’s lance. _Nice of him_. Ylissean, highly ranked, if his armor was anything to go by. Another swordsman in blue cut down the last one. It was the leader, but as Robin suspected, he was not skilled.

He did, in fact, have a steel axe. _Hm_ , _note to self: take the dead bandits’ weapons to the village so they have something more than pitchforks and carpentry hammers to defend themselves from the next round of bandits. Oh, fire tome! Mine._

Provided, of course, these Ylissean knights did not give her trouble. She may have to run. Outrunning someone on horseback is difficult, but it was possible if ‘running’ included outwitting and hiding from the pursuer.

“Well met, milords,” she greeted. Most of Ylisse’s highly ranked combatants were also of noble lineage, no matter how skilled they happened to be. Quite unlike her home. The chances they were of important bloodlines were unlikely, but better to err on the side of too polite than not.

“You as well, friend,” said the one with blue. She could not distinguish his rank, but he had responded to her greeting, so he was likely the leader. Though why he would be the leader and not the great knight, she was unsure.

To the left, the sound of hooves. Three horses. She looked. One horse bore a female cavalier wearing predominantly red under her armor, and a silver-haired archer whose clothes bore a style distinctly from the land of Valm. _He is quite far away from home_. The second horse bore a male cavalier wearing green, and the third a cleric whose clothes were very distinctly for those of a higher class. And ill-suited for battle.

“We are the Shepherds, and I am Prince Chrom.” She startled, and eyed him closer. While his clothes were of good quality, he bore no special marker of his status. Unusual. Normally, the Ylisseans were all a huff about their breeding.

The Prince and current heir to the Halidom of Ylisse smiled wryly. He continued, “We thank you for stopping those bandits before they reached the town. They razed a village further south, and we have been in pursuit of them. Pray tell us your name?”

The Prince. Only meeting the Exalt herself would have been better fortune. Prince Chrom had blue hair—as his father had, and the Hero-King Marth had—and under his silver armor, he wore blue to match. He was handsome, Robin supposed, but looked far too much like his father.

But she should focus on her good fortune. She had not expected to run into any Shepherds so soon, let alone their leader. “I am Robin. And it was no trouble—the villagers have been kind to me, and it was the least I could do.”

“The villagers are safe then?” he asked, a furrowed brow.

She nodded. “Yes, but best I return to tell them the danger has past.”

“Allow us to escort you there,” the Prince smiled.

She accepted.

...

Robin rode with the Prince himself, and she pretended to not feel aghast at the thought of touching him. He helped her up and smiled. She smiled back and thought as she looked into his blue eyes, _My mother killed your father_. Prince Chrom hoisted himself up, and off they went.

In no time, they came upon the village. She heard the cleric whisper, “It’s deserted!”

“It is not. The townsfolk are hiding in the church.” Robin scanned. She was pleased; it seemed Petyr had not only taken her advice, but convinced all of the townspeople to do the same. Had the bandits reached the town, they would have been much safer for it.

“Why are they hiding in the church?” asked the Prince.

“It is made of solid stone, so it cannot burn down. With the windows and door boarded, it is easily the safest place in the entire village. Also the most defensible.”

“That’s quite smart,” said the male cavalier, Sir Stahl. He had a pleasant face and an easy-going expression.

Robin smiled slightly. “Thank you. It was my suggestion.”

“Why not have the townsfolk flee?” asked the great knight, who had introduced himself as Sir Frederick. “Why have them sequester themselves inside a stone trap?”

“I had every confidence that I could take on the bandits myself,” Robin replied loftily. Frederick had an interrogative, mistrustful tone and air about him. While there was every reason to distrust Robin, her actions thus far should only reflect well on her. She rather disliked insightful people when they were not on her side. “It was only a precaution, if one were to slip by me. And besides, have you ever had to abandon all you own and everything you know? It is expensive to start again elsewhere and most people do not have that sort of gold, and begging for help is difficult, a gamble, and debasing. Not to mention the sentiment most hold for their homes.” Sir Stahl was nodding, slowly, as she spoke. He had experience with uprooting oneself, then. Perhaps he was less of a blue blood than the others?

Sir Frederick pursed his lips, but said, “I had not considered that. With that in mind, your recommendation was quite wise—the townsfolk hid in the church on your advice, did they not?”

“Yes, they did.”

“And you definitely had it handled, wow!” said the cleric, Lissa. No title given. “You took down two of those bandits in one go! It was amazing!”

“Why, thank you.”

“It was really impressive,” said the Prince. “Where did you learn to cast sorcery like that? I’d wager you’d best our chief sages.”

“You flatter me,” Robin responded. “I have much experience in battle, is all. I have traveled for quite some time.”

“Alone?” asked the female cavalier, Sully, also no title given. At Robin’s nod—for she had traveled alone, plenty, though it had been with comrades more often than not, but they didn’t need to know that—Sully whistled low and said, “Damn, you must have nerves of steel.”

Robin smiled, again. They had reached the church, and Robin slid off the Prince’s horse. The windows had been boarded, and Robin felt pleased.

She knocked on the door. “Petyr! It is I, Robin! The bandits have been slain.”

There was a murmur beyond, and then Petyr called out, “Who is with you?”

Ah, of course. They had heard the horses. The Prince responded, “I am Prince Chrom, of the Shepherds! We were chasing the bandits when Robin dealt with them.”

The doors did not open. “He speaks truth,” she called out.

The doors opened, and she saw the tension leave the faces of the men stationed there. “Blessed goddess,” Petyr praised. “I worried you wouldn’t return.”

Their goddess had nothing to do with it. “Such little faith,” Robin teased.

“And Your Royal Highness!” Petyr called out, turning to the Prince and bowing. “We thank you for protecting our humble village. We have little, but we invite you all to stay for the night. We will make merry and feast in your honor.”

Sir Frederick replied, “Thank you, but we must press on towards the capitol. We are near past our return date.”

“Oh, Frederick, can’t we stay for one night? I’m tired of sleeping on the ground,” asked Lissa.

“Milady, I believe it was you who was determined to ‘get used to it,’ and pressed your brother to let you join us on patrol.” Brother? Who was her brother? He must be highly ranked indeed, to get such a green girl out on patrol. Frederick turned to Petyr. “Again, our thanks, but we must be going.”

Petyr accepted the refusal with grace—and why not? It would be quite a strain on their resources to host five nobles—but he turned to Robin. “And you, Robin? You are welcomed to stay for as long as you like.”

“Actually, Robin, would you be interested in coming with us? Your sorcery and tactics would be a welcomed addition to the Shepherds,” said the Prince.

Robin’s surprise was genuine. She had been planning on asking them if she could join them on their journey back to the capitol, and getting into their good graces then, but to be offered a position in the Shepherds on the spot... it was too good to be true.

 _Does he suspect?_ Robin wondered, Prince Chrom’s open and guileless face opposite her. If he did, he was a better actor than even her. Robin resembled her mother greatly, but her mother’s appearance would not be known among the Ylissean nobles.

Still, a position in the Shepherds would serve her purpose quite well... but she needed to keep in character. What would lone traveler Robin do?

“I would be honored, milord, but I am uncertain that I would be well-suited for such a placement. Is the Shepherds not for those of noble birth?”

“No, it’s not!” answered Stahl. “I’m actually the son of an apothecary. I was found and invited to join the Shepherds when I helped defend my hometown from bandits.”

“We don’t search for recruits for the Shepherds,” the Prince explained. “We invite only people who have demonstrated integrity and strength to join our ranks. The Shepherds protect the citizenry of Ylisse, but they also are the first and foremost representations of Ylisse’s ideals.”

 _Then I am exactly the wrong person to ask to join_ , she thought, but smiled. “Then I would be honored. I accept.”

...

These Shepherds are a good-natured, trusting bunch. The silver-haired archer, Virion, was also a new recruit. As Robin had guessed, he hailed from Valm. “Roseanne, specifically,” he had answered when she queried as to which region his style of dress was from. “Have you met a Valmese before?”

The flame of their campfire flickered, the others chewing down as best they can on their bear meat—or not at all, in the case of Lissa and Frederick. “Once or twice, primarily in markets. You are from the noble class, are you not?”

“I was,” Virion answered. “Of a rather small dukedom, but a dukedom nonetheless. However, circumstances with our neighbors changed, and I was forced to flee. The forces I brought with me have been graciously accepted by the Exalt, and currently acting as part of the Holy Army.”

“And you’ve been graciously accepted into the Shepherds, have you?”

He cast her a sly, side eye glance. “Very much so. The Exalt is merciful and has provided me sanctuary. I could not leave myself idle, if I am to return to my home and retake my land.”

“Why Ylisse?” Robin asked. “Why not Regna Ferox or Plegia?”

Virion chewed silently on his meat, then answered, “We have the best trading relationship with Ylisse. And besides, Regna Ferox is not kind to the weak, and no one really knows what the Queen of Plegia thinks about anything.”

Robin hummed. “A wise decision then.”

“And you, my dear? From where do you hail?”

She had rehearsed this. “Close to the border. It was razed to the ground by bandits five years ago. I’ve traveled since.”

“My deepest sympathies.” Virion even seemed to mean it.

“Tell me of Roseanne,” Robin requested.

“Ah, she was beautiful,” Virion said wistfully. “While I have no complaints of Ylisse, the air in Roseanne is sweeter. Our foliage is different and blooms most of the year, you see. We are known for our fertile land, and we enjoyed a vibrant culture with strong artists in all mediums. We are particularly proud of our dances, wyverns, and painting.” He sighed. “Were.”

“How could you have left?” Robin asked, before she could stop herself.

“What use would I be for my people if I were dead instead? They suffer and I know they suffer, but I am working on a way to save them.”

The only thing Virion could hope for here that would help would be an alliance with Ylisse—or any one of the countries here, actually. “It would take a very strong alliance to convince a country like Ylisse to go to war for a foreign duke. Like a marriage.”

“Or the threat of invasion,” Virion answered. “Walhart wants to conquer the entire world. When he has finished at home he will set his sights here.”

“Does the Exalt take your warning seriously?” Robin knew little of the Exalt Emmeryn’s true character. She was, by all accounts, a pacifist, but how Ylisseans treated each other had differed vastly from how they treated their neighbors. Robin knew they called the Feroxi ‘barbarians’ and they reportedly liked the Feroxi.

Ylisseans did not like Plegians. Robin had seen the effects of that dislike, and it amounted to more than words.

But would Exalt Emmeryn heed the words of a foreign Duke? Would his warnings matter to her and her supposed love of peace?

 _What do the Ylisseans think of the Valmese_ , she wondered. She knew that Plegia thought of them as refined to the point of stuffiness and spoiled by the richness in their lands. _So Ylisseans must love them_.

While the Valmese cloth and art they received through trade ships were beautiful, the clothes were too layered and tight to be comfortable in the desert. She recalled a dress that Aversa had bought for her in a misguided attempt at providing Robin a gift fit for a princess. Robin hadn’t been able to put it on herself and despite Aversa’s tendency for lace and decoration, she had also fumbled and gotten the buttons hooked in the wrong holes multiple times before they had figured it out. The dress itself felt like a skin-tight prison. Against the arid air of Plegia, it had been unbearable. She and Aversa had sold the dress at the market and used the money to buy new a Goetia tome that they had spent the rest of the week pouring over.

Robin longed for Aversa’s presence. She had offered to come, but Robin had thought that if the Ylisseans were as bad as suspected, she hadn’t wanted one of Plegia’s greatest generals to be in the hands of their enemies.

“Exalt Emmeryn has listened to my counsel,” Virion admitted slowly, “but the warnings of a foreign duke carries little weight. In addition, the Exalt is preoccupied with relations with Plegia. I admit, if Ylisse and Plegia could find peace, we would all be much better off standing against the Conqueror in unity. However, relations with Plegia is shaky at best, especially after that short war a few years back.”

Robin remembered that short war well. She had given tactical advice on how to stop the Ylisseans, and her advice and won them the battles that helped them secure a shaky truce.

“I wish you the best of luck,” Robin told him. “I believe I am hungry enough to have seconds.”

“You have a stronger stomach than I,” Virion announced. “While I have long grown used to the conditions of travel, I’m afraid I have never developed a taste for bear meat.”

They both stood and went their separate ways. Fatigued and genuinely hungry, Robin braced herself for an interrogative conversation.

Prince Chrom, Sir Frederick, and (presumably Lady) Lissa were seated together in a clump, though only the Prince was eating. Sir Frederick seemed stoic, but Lissa herself wore a face of disgust.

“Why couldn’t Sully and Stahl have hunted something normal people eat? Why did it have to be bear?” Lissa was saying to her companions.

“It is what they found, and we must make do with what we have, Lady Lissa,” Sir Frederick told her. “You must keep up your strength. We do not know what lies ahead of us.”

“You’re not eating it either!” Lissa all but shouted.

Frederick stammered, “That’s different, that—I ate a big lunch.”

“Liar!”

Robin cleared her throat. They all turned to look at her, but it was the Prince who smiled and patted the seat next to him.

“Robin, come, have a seat.” She seated herself next to the Prince and made herself relax. “Did you have enough to eat?”

Since she had merely wanted an excuse to end the conversation with Virion and speak with the Prince, she said, “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

“Did you really eat bear?” Lady Lissa demanded. “Tell me you didn’t, maybe next time my brother will put more effort into hunting something normal people eat!”

Robin blinked. Chrom had hunted the bear. Chrom was Lissa’s brother. Lissa was a princess of Ylisse.

“I have spent too much time traveling, milady, to turn down even the gamest of meats.”

“Exactly what I was trying to tell you, milady. Often of the road, you will not have the luxury of refusing a meal, even if it is not to your usual preferences.” Robin cast him a side-glance. He had no bones near him. Perhaps he was a hypocrite, as Lissa claimed.

“Robin,” the Prince said, turning away from his companions. “Have you ever visited Ylisstol before in your many travels?”

“I have not, in fact. I never made it there.”

“It is a beautiful city. The castle is made of white stone and was care into the face of the mountain itself. Its people thrive and markets constantly bustle—it’s a wonderful place.”

Robin thinks of her home, sheltered by the white bones of Grima, providing them sweet relief from the sun. She thinks of how her city is alive at night, when the heat and light no longer have their oppressive power. The flickering firelight cast everyone’s face as beautiful and warm.

“It sounds incredible,” Robin said.

“It’ll be quite a different pace from traveling alone,” the Prince said, with an easy smile.

“It will assuredly be different from anywhere else I have visited.”

“There are many places to explore. I would be pleased to show you when we arrive.”

It would work well with her plan, but made her mouth unpleasantly dry. Still, she forced herself to smile. “I would enjoy that.”

And the Prince smiled at her, and it was a bit too pleased, and he was leaning a bit too into her space and—no. No, it couldn’t be.

“I actually came by to ask about our travel plans. How far are we from Ylisstol?”

“We are only a five day ride, though we will have to stop to let the horses rest, since we will all have to ride double,” the Prince answered. “It may take a bit longer, but not by much. I expect to see home certainly before Naga’s light leaves the sixth day.”

“That is good to hear. With you leave, I shall retire for the evening, if we have days of hard riding ahead of us.”

“Of course. May Naga brighten your dreams.”

 _Grima’s sweet darkness, forgive me_. “And may she yours as well.”

Robin set up her bedroll in relative peace and set in to sleep.

The Ylisseans laughed loudly at something she couldn’t see or hear, far away by the light as they were. Robin felt more alone than she ever had in this venture, the nights spent in trees or awake for fear of bandits and rapists. She was unlikely to wake up to under a bandit’s blade or body, but she was certain to wake to unwelcome faces all the same.

She closed her eyes. The darkness beneath her lids was soothing and eased the tension in her body. She let it envelop her into sleep.


	2. Bathhouse Chats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin was welcomed into Ylisstol by its prince, and found a familiar face in the most unexpected of places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, it's been a while. This has been almost finished for a while, but some irl that killed my writing juices. 
> 
> See notes at the end if you want to see author reasons and discussion of why I do what I do.

Ylisstol was not far, and they made good time, doubled on horses as they were. People they met along the road greeted them with warm regard; the Shepherds were well-liked, at least.

They did, in fact, cross paths with a pegasus knight squadron, on a patrol of the nearby towns. While Petyr was correct, these knights would have been too late to save his town. How strictly did the knights maintain a schedule? Did the bandits somehow know the schedule? If so, that was a glaring mistake on behalf the pegasus knights’ commander.

“Phila!” the Prince called out as the pegasi landed around them. They were really quite magnificent; gleaming white, with long, majestic wings. They were not common in Plegia, though, for they bore the heat poorly, sweated too much, and needed too much water. The native wyverns with their dry and cool scales fared much better in the deserts and wastelands.

Aversa had a pegasus that had adjusted to the heat and dryness through necessity and Aversa’s persistence. Robin had flown with Aversa several times, but she found that pegasi had a strange, loping pattern of flight. They were quicker and more agile certainly, but Robin far preferred the strong and steady flight of a wyvern.

Still, the pegasus knights of Ylisse were impressive. Their Dark Fliers had wreaked havoc in Plegia with their skills in magic and their Falcon Knights did the same with their lancing. 

The one that the Prince had addressed, Phila, was a silver-haired woman with not a strand out of place and sharp red eyes.

“Your Royal Highness,” Phila stated. “Did you encounter any troubles in your patrols?”

“We did not,” the Prince answered, and then, surprisingly, gestured to Robin. “Thanks to this woman here,” he continued, “she fended off a bandit attack on Southtown alone.”

Even though Robin knew she was skilled and competent, she flushed. She had not expected the Prince to single her out so. “You flatter me, my prince.”

“Nonsense. You’re too modest,” the Prince said with a smile. Turning back to Phila, “We didn’t encounter any other groups or any indication there were more of them, but go fly through Southtown to be certain.”

“Of course, Your Royal Highness. We will be vigilant.” With a salute, Phila signalled to the other knights, and they took off to the sky.

 _Maybe I should learn how to cast spells from a wyvern’s back_ , Robin mused, admiring the though of the freedom and movement that would bring. It would be a tricky feat to train a wyvern to do so; wyverns didn’t like magic. They lacked the natural resistance of pegasi. If she could acquire a hatchling and raise it to be used to magic, though... perhaps Mustafa would be able to assist. She must ask him when she returned to Plegia.

The pegasi soon faded from sight, they were so quick. The Shepherds continued their slow, easy pace, with a newfound energy.

“We’ll come upon Ylisstol soon,” the Prince told her. She rode today with Frederick, and the Prince was alone on his horse today. She, Frederick, and the Prince led their group, and she cold hear the others chatting in the back. From what she could hear, Virion seemed to be working his charm on not only the Princess, but Sully and Stahl as well.

The Prince had a white horse. That, with his blue hair and blue and silver clothes and armor did indeed create a rather heroic and noble image. Like the Hero-King Marth, and the Prince’s father.

She wondered who made the decision that he should ride a white horse. Did the horsemaster do so, or was did the Ylisseans have a council about it?

No one in Plegia would dare to attempt to replicate such an image. The wounds were still too fresh.

“I look forward to it,” Robin said. “I’ve heard that there is none like Ylisstol.”

“Truly not,” the Prince said. “The white castle gleams day and night, like a benevolent beacon. You will not find finer architecture and art than at the capitol; we boast the fine arts, but we welcome trade and exchange with travelers, to the point where the castle has the most exceptional collection of art in the continent.”

Robin forced a smile. There must be a response to the Prince, and Sir Frederick seemed unlikely to come to her rescue. “That sounds... nice, my prince.”

“Just nice?” the Prince asked, surprised.

“Well,” Robin said. “I’ve never been the biggest fan of art.”

There was no mistaking it. The Prince _slumped_ , in a manner most unfit for a prince. “Truly?”

“I have always preferred the written form of art,” Robin confirmed, relieved. She saw no reason to encourage the Prince in... whatever this was meant to be.

Unfortunately, the Prince brightened. “Ah, that is no problem! Our library is extensive. You’ll find plenty to read there, from all places and sorts.”

“It sounds magnificent. Do you like reading, Your Royal Highness?”

The Prince winced. “Ah, no. Not particularly. I, uh, prefer the fine arts.”

“And sword fighting, milord,” said Frederick, suddenly. “We must not forget your ever-present preoccupation with sword fighting.”

“Really, Frederick? You train more than I ever could.”

“It is my duty as a knight, milord,” Frederick responded. “If I were a prince, I would likely substitute or add to my regiment to accommodate for _all_ of my responsibilities accordingly.”

The Prince flushed. Robin was accustomed to reprimands by her peers. Aversa and Gaius in particular were fond of informing her of when she should relax, but they would have been much blunter. _This knight has some wit about him, as well as_ strength. She ought to keep an eye on him.

“Frederick,” Robin said. “How long have you been a knight?”

“I began as a squire when I was fourteen,” Frederick answered. “And seventeen years has passed since then.”

He could not have participated in the war, then. Robin’s feelings towards Frederick increased in the positive by a fraction. The Ylisseans soldiers committed so many heinous crimes in the name of their goddess during that time, and the wounds still lingered.

Robin could remember clearly when an ambassador from Ylisse visited six years ago. It had been fifteen years since the end of the war, and ten years since Robin’s mother had claimed the throne.

The ambassador had been a tall and gaunt man, with graying brown hair and laugh lines around a stern mouth. Robin had worn the robes of the Grimleal, as she was a student at the time, and lingered a respectful distance away.

Aversa, already a fearsome fighter, had stood tall by the throne, ready for any attack. But Robin’s mother the queen looked as relaxed and powerful as she did during any official business. Robin hadn’t realized at that time that the her mother’s practical wardrobe would indicate anything unsavory, nor the men she had in her life. The ambassador did not seem to be anything but respectful, even when her mother refused any offer of peace.

“Exalt Emmeryn only wants peace, Your Grace.” The ambassador had pleaded, when the queen had rejected every point in the Exalt’s letter. “She is willing to visit you herself in order to sign a treaty.”

“Oh, really?” her mother had asked mildly. The ambassador did not realize that she was being sarcastic until, “How kind of her to offer to grace us with her presence. Pray tell, if we sign a treaty, will she even deign to shit on Plegian soil, or is that too beneath such a blessed creature?”

The ambassador had looked horrified. Maybe terrified. Robin didn’t understand then, the situation he might have thought he was in, but the queen was vulgar, but not unfair. That kind of joke was common among Plegians; Robin had heard worse, training among the soldiers and the Grimleal.

“You and your horse may rest the night, but you are not permitted to leave your room. In the morning you will be escorted to the border. Do not come again, or we will send you back in pieces.”

Robin had watched Orton and Garrick escort the man out of the castle at dawn. Aversa had snorted. “We shouldn’t have wasted time, just sending him back. We should have gone ahead and sent only his head.”

“That would have been an act of war,” said Robin.

“It would serve them right,” said Gangrel, a would-be thief who had been caught and offered a job in serve of the Plegian castle. He had a staff and a tome of healing magic before him. “There will be war again, soon enough. The Exalted family has always lusted for the demise of Plegia.”

Robin had said nothing in response. History showed he was right, anyway.

And now, Robin sat traveling with one of the exalted, who was attempting to small talk her.

She reminded herself that they would soon arrive to Ylisstol.

...

“I will admit,” Robin said. “Ylisstol is as grand as you said.”

The Prince beamed. “Isn’t it? Wait until you see the interior of the castle.”

Robin thought she would prefer the market. There were items there she had never seen before, as Ylisse did enjoy far better trading relations with Ferox and Valm.

Their trade had never been interrupted by the mass slaughtering of their people. That would also contribute.

The Prince and his Shepherds made a beeline for the castle. “What’s the rush?” she asked the Princess.

“We haven’t seen our sister in so long!” she exclaimed. “I’ve missed her!”

“We’re also required to report back as soon as we arrive in the capitol,” Sully added.

“What is the Exalt like?” she asked Sully, but it was Lissa who answered.

“She’s the kindest, sweetest person you could ever meet! You’ll love her!”

Robin tried to hide her grimace. The siblings of the Exalt would naturally have nothing but good to say about her.

“Don’t be nervous!” Lissa said suddenly, with more compassion. “You have nothing to be worried about. She’ll be thrilled to meet you!”

Robin smiled and nodded. She was nervous, but it would not do for anyone to know the real reason. “It is a bit nerve-wracking, to meet with the Exalt. It is not something I ever expected to do.”

“You’ll be great,” Lissa reassured her enthusiastically. They had reached the gates of the castle, and the gates were opened upon the Prince’s relaxed wave.

The stone was white, the castle carved into the mountain itself. If you hear the Ylisseans tell it, Naga herself willed the stone into shape to protect the blessed Hero-King Marth and his descendents.

But there were proud Plegians who could still tell you how many enslaved Plegians died when the castle was built by their hands.

The hallways were filled with servants and knights, the former in well-made plainsclothes, and the knights in their gleaming, silver armor. Unlike the practical, dark robes of the dark mages and dark leather and light armor of the wyvern riders.

Robin found the overall appearance a bit of an eyesore. It was too bright.

They went straight to the Exalt, to Robin’s surprise. She hadn’t thought she would be included in their family reunion. She was as ready as she would ever be, to meet her country’s enemy.

 _Grima, let me slip through this place as unnoticed as one of your shadows_ , Robin prayed. _And forgive me for what I must do._

The throne room was massive, and had similar schematics to the churches of Naga she had passed on the road, but certainly more massive. The tapestries covered column to column, and Robin recognized the battles they showed. Behind the columns and the tapestries, servants moved, cleaning and attending to the needs of the nobles.

“Chrom,” said a magnificent woman by the throne. Exalt Emmeryn. It could only be. “Lissa. Welcome home.”

Exalt Emmeryn, unlike Chrom, did not resemble her father at all. The only indication that she was her father’s daughter was the Brand on her forehead. If tales were true, Chrom’s mark was on his right arm; she did not know where Lissa’s was.

“You’ve returned with more in your number than when you left,” Exalt Emmeryn said, eyes sliding over to Robin. Robin made herself breathe normally when the guards around Emmeryn did the same. (That Pegasus knight that they met on the rode was also there—Phila. By Exalt Emmeryn’s right side. There were eight other elite guards nearby, in the room. There were supposed to be ten of the Exalt’s personal, elite guard. Where was the tenth?)

“Sister,” Chrom said, “may I present Robin, who I asked to join the Shepherds after witnessing her skills in magic and strategy.”

Exalt Emmeryn appeared intrigued. Robin was about to greet her, but Lissa beat her to it.

“She’s really good! She protected the entirety of Southtown from bandits singlehandedly! She had them protected _and_ she took out two bandits at once with lightning!”

“That is indeed impressive,” Exalt Emmeryn said, and even looked genuine. “We are fortunate to have you join our ranks.”

“Thank you, Exalted One,” Robin said, with a bow.

“You all must be weary,” Exalt Emmeryn told them. “You will all be shown the Shepherd’s barracks.”

No one actually showed them the way—Sully told Robin to follow her, though Virion and Stahl were also headed to the barracks. “The women’s barrack’s for Shepherds aren’t that crowded, you’ll have your choice of beds.” Lissa, Chrom, and Frederick didn’t come with them. The Prince and princess would not live in the barracks, and Frederick was high enough rank presumably to have his own room.

The barracks for men and women were next to each other. Sully led her inside. There were a few women in there, who nodded respectfully to Sully. “If there ain’t clothes on the bed, it’s up for grabs. And… Sumia! Maribelle! Miriel! Anyone here?”

A beautiful woman with steel-grey hair appeared and had enough time to break out a smile before she fell flat on her face. “Oh! Ow!”

“Really, Sumia?” Sully asked, picking Sumia up by the elbows. “Chrom’s not here.”

Sumia’s face fell but then lightened when she spotted Robin. “Oh, hi! Who are you?”

“Robin. Pleased to meet you. Sumia, was it?”

“Yes! Pleased to meet you too! Did Chrom and the others find you on their travels?”

“Sure did,” Sully answered. “She took out some bandits all by herself. Pretty good with magic and not bad with her mind, either.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! We always need more people,” Sumia told Robin. Robin smiled and nodded, but was actually becoming genuinely tired. And she needed to wash. She mentioned as much so as to beg out of the conversation and for directions to the bathhouse, and after declining offers of company, she made her way there.

Ylisse was centered on a mountain that had its own river running through it, so its bathhouses were enviable. While not a snowy region, the peaks of their mountains were, and the run off made much of the region fertile. Their farmlands produced surplus, and their weather mild. Plegia was not so lucky; in several of their wars, Ylisseans won by merely choking their supply chains. It was an awful way to lose.

Now Robin didn’t feel like amiably chatting to anyone in the bathhouse, and she instead sought a private stall.

She made her way to a berth of open stalls, and noticed that there was one occupied that had a cloak hung by the door that was very… familiar… Robin changed her course and made for the occupied room. When she was closer to the cloak, she was able to confirm her previous identification.

Scanning the bathhouse, no one was around (they all still bathed and chatted amiable by the shared pool), so she slipped into the stall and smiled at Gaius. Gaius gave her a cheery wave as she began to strip.

“This is the women’s bathhouse,” she murmured to him, slipping into the water. It was cool and refreshing. She let out a deep sigh and let herself be submerged for a blissful, quiet moment.

She came back up. Gaius was smirking at her. “Your mother wanted me to keep an eye on you. And they all assume it’s noble ladies in these private stalls; no one’s checking.”

“Tell mother I don’t need to be watched. I have this under control,” she whispered.

He raised his arms disarmingly. “I’m not telling your mother that. You tell her.”

She glared at Gaius, but it was no use. Morgana was infinitely more frightening than her daughter. Robin sighed. “Stay out of sight. They’ve already accepted me within the Shepherds, and I’ve spent time with Prince Chrom himself.”

“You do work quickly,” Gaius murmured, impressed. “How is he?”

“Insufferably charming,” Robin sniffed. “And I believe he’s been purposely trying to charm me. I believe he finds me attractive.”

“Oh! Huh,” Gaius said. “Well… that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Tell me, Gaius, why would a prince give his attentions to a lone, wandering woman? To court her?”

“I mean, _you_ seduced _me_ , after your mother brought me to the castle…” Gaius countered, but he knew that Plegia was different from Ylisse’s rigid standards, and Regna Ferox’s sense of commitment. The Whore Queen of Plegia, the Commoner Queen of Plegia, the Usurper Queen, Queen Whore… they had many names for Robin’s mother in Ylisse and Regna Ferox.

“It’s likely he means to seduce me to have his fun,” Robin said. “What other purpose would he have? Exalt Emmeryn leads, and her siblings will be used for political gain.” She paused, and added. “And her children, if she ever has any.” It was a peculiar thing that the Exalt was not married with children—if Robin had any suitable brothers, she might not have to suffer this match at all.

“Like with you.”

“I find it unlikely that a marriage with me will be considered seriously.”

“Truly?” Gaius seemed a bit disappointed, despite the fact that if Robin did marry Chrom, she would likely be forced to adopt Ylisse’s strict code of conduct and abandon her own. “It may be our best option to secure peace, afraid as I am to say it.”

“Nothing explicit has been said either way,” Robin admitted. “I still have to investigate further for their sincerity.”

Gaius shrugged, and leaned his elbows back against the rim of the bath in a way that emphasized the muscles of his chest. Robin didn’t try to hide her look at them.

“I don’t think you’d do very well as a married Ylissean lady.”

Robin’s lips curled in disgust. “No. I don’t think so either.”

“I would like to see you in those fancy dresses of theirs,” Gaius mused. “I’m not sure how they breathe in them.”

“You may yet,” Robin murmured, sticking out her left leg to intertwine with Gaius’. He gave her space until she settled before doing so himself. The contact with so friendly and familiar a person was soothing to Robin, and released a tension she hadn’t known she had contained in her core. “Who knows what is required of a Shepherd?”

“You are good at what you do. You could probably win the Prince’s heart, if you so wished.”

“What worth is a prince’s heart?” Robin asked.

“A lot, some would say.”

“They have never dealt with royalty before. The heart of a thief like yours would be worth far more—royalty demands so much that love is rarely a priority if it is ever achieved. Why do you think my mother has lovers but has never married? Her dedication and focus is on managing her country.”

Gaius hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is the explanation behind the Exalt’s unmarried state as well.”

“A possibility. She is still expected to marry, by Ylissean protocol.”

“And yet she doesn’t.”

“The reason I am here is to cease these ponderings and get certain answers as to the motivations and opinions of the Exalted family. So as to avoid conversations like these in the future.”

“We can’t rule anything out though yet—if we could, you needn’t do this at all.”

Gaius was reasonable and rather annoying. Robin sighed, and sunk below the water for respite. By when she came up, a question had occurred to her.

“How did you know I would be in the castle tonight?” Robin queried.

“Oh, I was sure you would get in here somehow,” Gaius answered. “Be that work as a maid, spend the night with a knight, waltz in and pretend you’re one of their ladies and do it so convincingly that everyone is fooled… all I had to do was wait.”

“And take a nice soak, while you’re at it. You’ll be too clean for a thief at this rate.”

Gaius smirked. “Perhaps you’d like to dirty me up then?”

Robin listened. There were fewer women still bathing. They were at an increased risk of being overheard. “We’d better not,” she signed, tracing his jawline with her finger and with the very tip at his chin, leading him in for a kiss.

“I’ll be around,” Gaius told her as they dried and got dressed. “If you need anything. And to keep an eye out.”

“In six days, meet me in the market at its busiest,” Robin ordered. “I’ll bring you in as a mercenary friend who’s good with a blade and nimble with his fingers and willing to help.”

“Should I do anything in those six days?”

“I’ll be fine on my own. Listen to what the common folk have to say on their Exalted family and on Plegia. I would know which nobles are thought of well and which are not; I would know how the peasantry is treated by nobles and the military; I would know the power of their churches; I would know the stories of Ylisse’s most reviled citizens; I would know what might not be spoken of in court.”

“Understood, my princess,” Gaius said, with a bow too exaggerated to pass in any court and a kiss on her lips that was definitely beyond any sense of Ylissean propriety.

…

She returned to the women’s barracks to Sully enthusiastically speaking to Sumia and a stoic woman with very straight hair.

“Robin! Come, I was telling Sumia and Miriel here of your defeat of those Plegian brutes!”

Robin frowned. “They were not Plegian.”

“Sure smelled like them,” Sully answered with a laugh. Sumia smiled a touch, but Miriel was observing Robin.

“How did you reach that conclusion?” Miriel asked. There was no humor about her, so Robin deigned to answer.

“Their dress was all wrong—Plegians wear light layers of cotton, to protect from the sun, comfort, and practicality. Their entire fashion is based on it and is remarkedly different from Ylisse’s style.”

“They could have switched their clothes to mislead us,” Miriel suggested.

Robin shook her head. “They could have. And have spent months in their Ylissean garbs, to make sure their tan lines were properly accrued, to carry no memorabilia from their home at all while pillaging a foreign land, with no rhyme or reason to their attacks aside to incur Ylissean wrath—which seems like a worthier goal if they _had_ carried some sort of indication of their homeland, would it not?—so no, it seems much likelier to be Ylissean brigands on Ylissean soil.”

And, furthermore, brigands were rare in Plegia. “Food, water, shelter, medicine, and safety,” her mother Morgana had said. “Those are the very basics to human survival. That is what our people need at the very basic from us to continue to be our people. So we will provide what they need to survive. There’s no need for us and other nobles to have so much.”

There had been complaints of course, but not as many as expected. The old and noble lines in Plegia were mostly subdued after a civil war and attempted genocide from their neighbor. And Morgana her mother had shown the entire country her strength when she led a revolution and taken the throne, and she intended to keep the throne through compassion.

Plegia flourished. Continued to flourish. Morgana and Robin were beloved in their country and while Aversa travelled with Robin wherever she would go, Robin had nothing to fear from her people.

However, despite the love of their people and their remarkable recovery from war, Plegia was still deemed barbaric by its neighbors… and Robin could understand. Neither the queen nor princess made any secret of their affairs. Anyone could receive high rank in court. Peasants were not dismissed as animals. Yes, Plegia would be seen as quite barbaric indeed, to Ylisseans and even the bloodthirsty Feroxi.

None of this was suitable to say to the Ylisseans before her.

“You make valid points. I would like to suggest that we investigate a little further into the source of our brigand problems—it may be closer to home than we believe.”

Robin studied Miriel. A scholar, certainly; a practitioner of the arcane arts, as well. However, Robin found those meaningless in the face of Miriel’s clear request for further information and acceptance of evidence in front of her.

 _Perhaps not all Ylisseans are worthless after all_.

Sully scowled. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Brigands are brigands. You still kicked their asses.”

At this, Robin allowed a small smile. “Yes. I did.”

“Tell us about it,” Sumia requested. Several other women around the room had begun to gather around, and murmured for the same.

Though tired, Robin needed to garner favor with her comrades for now. So instead of bed, she settled down to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These aren't necessary to read, and might get lengthy:
> 
> I love Fire Emblem and all of the games. However, sometimes I get really frustrated with the games regarding how they deal with politics. I don't even really particularly study politics, but I'm aware of them and the basics to know that they fuck up A LOT in the games, and I am really familiar with how oppression, prejudice, war, and genocide works, so I'm incorporating that into this fic. That's really the point of this fic. There won't be a Grima or anything. Just culture clashes (and you'll see when reading this that I've made Ylisse and Plegia REALLY DIFFERENT in terms of their religious beliefs, cultural attitudes and values, which contributes to a lot of tension between groups of people as history has taught us). 
> 
> Also--while Robin has romantic/sexual stuff going on with other characters, this is ultimately going to be Chrom/Robin. Robin just isn't a chaste maiden beforehand. Also Gaius is fun.
> 
> Also also, the games all depict our Fair and Just nobles as fighting for the good of their country but we rarely see what actually happens to their people... which is not on. At all. So... that's why Plegia is a little bit socialist. (A socialist/capitalist monarchy? Weird. Ok. That's what I'm doing though.)


	3. The Blood Between Countries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin ponders life at Ylisstol and writes a letter home.

Robin’s attempt to blend in is burnt to the ground when Prince Chrom arrived at the women’s barracks the next day to show her around, to the lingering side long glances by the other women.

“I promised to show you our library,” the Prince said with a smile. Robin forced one back in response.

“I thought you preferred your swordplay,” Robin said.

The lightest of a flush brightened the Prince’s cheeks. “Yes, well—you expressed the interest, and I thought…”

“Your swordplay really is impressive, Chrom,” interjected Sully. Her brashness and lack of honorifics were jarringly distinct in Ylisse. And yet, Sully was from a major noble line in Ylisse. The only heir to a lineage noted for their knights, a legacy that had never before had to be carried on the back of a woman. Did that give her the privilege to behave in such an inappropriate fashion to Ylissean standards? “I think Robin here might enjoy having a spar with you.”

“Nonsense,” Robin said immediately. “My skill to boast is my magic; my swordplay is not my most impressive skill.” Not entirely true, but as the technique of swordplay she had learned had been taught to her by thieves, tricksters, and assassins, Robin did not think it appropriate for Ylissean sensibilities.

“Well, I for one, would like to see it,” Sully announced, acquiring the nodding agreement of the other women in the barracks after a hard gaze around. “If it’s even half as good as your magic, it’d be a sight to see. And I’m sure Chrom here would love to let you show off.”

“I very much would,” said the Prince, with more confidence than he had started with. Frustrated at the turn of events, and not a little confused—if Sully was a noblewoman and a friend of Chrom’s, why would she support his pursuit of a no name woman?—but deciding it would ultimately aid her goal, Robin smiled sweetly and told the Prince, “Well, with such encouragement, how can I refuse? Let’s.”

The Prince beamed at her, and she tried to keep the viciousness out of her own smile.

…

While Robin tried to draw it out, it was not much of a match at all.

The Prince knew the technique, but had yet to apply them, had yet built the muscle memory that could only be gleaned through battles. Robin loved her mother, but the betrayal of the Grimleal and the crusade of Ylisse had driven her to an advanced level of caution. Robin had been intensely drilled extensively throughout her training.

“As a leader, I should focus on being able to manage politics and fianances, not defend myself from a five enemy surprise attack,” Robin had complained, when she was fourteen.

“A country can be sent into chaos when its leader is killed, and placing all of your trust in your vassals sets yourself up to betrayal,” her mother had responded.

“You think my friends cannot be trusted?” Robin had asked, alarmed.

“Trust does not exist as only all or nothing,” her mother Morgana had said. “You can trust someone conditionally. For example, I trust Mustafa implicitly—he values his honor as a knight before all else. Aversa and Henry love you as a sister, and would fight for you, but I do not believe Henry would remain with us if you were to ever die. Aversa loves us both well, and would remain so long as one of us does. However, Orton would choose his husband over his duty, and Garrick his children. Doris’ loyalty is to our current system of providing relief and support to the rural farmers—if you or I were to change that, or threaten to change that, her response may be virulent. I would not have her in my personal guard for that reason.” At the look on her daughter’s face, Morgana had soothed, “Sweetheart, this doesn’t mean you can trust no one. It means that you need to be aware of what the limits are of the people you choose to surround yourself with. What would make them break? What would make them turn against you? You must know this, if you place your trust in your vassals. But, I want my daughter to be proficient at defending herself, for she will find herself in a situation where her vassals are not there to protect her, and I cannot have that.”

And her training had continued.

Robin suspected the Prince had a different upbringing.

It is difficult to hide one’s skill if one was really good. Robin didn’t try. She humiliated him, disarmed and under her sword’s point.

“And you’d be dead, were this a real match,” Robin proclaimed, to the Prince and the spectators, which were comprised of the women in the barracks and some of the male Shepherds. Robin had been too young for a battlefield when her mother had killed the former Exalt, but she had imagined that battle vividly, through her mother’s and others’ storytelling. Her victory over the Prince, who looked so similar to his father, exhilarated her. In this way, she could repeat history. If it came to war, again, she could kill him, this green, untried, pampered prince.

The spectators had gasped and cheered politely, but they seemed uneasy, some of them. Frederick the Wary was there, face stony, and he did not clap. Robin feared her thoughts showed through in her face, in her movement, in her body. She had a role to play, and for that, she had to control her very thoughts.

Robin put away her sword, and offered the Prince a hand. “Let me help you up.” She expected many things—a bruised ego, an angry reprimand, an order to leave the premises, and all of those would have been welcomed, as the Prince would abandon her pursuit of her, and she could confidently inform her mother that an arranged marriage between them would not work.

The Prince’s expression was utterly smitten, and Robin’s felt dread in her gut.

“What fine sword play!” the Prince exclaimed. “What skill! What grace!”

Robin flushed and stammered, neither faked. To not be so would be difficult in the face of such sincere flattery. “Thank you, my prince.”

“Would you like to spar again? I’m fascinated by your technique. Where did you learn it?”

This was also an answer she had rehearsed. “My mother. She was a mercenary for a time. She focused on swordsmanship, and taught me, though I am more naturally inclined towards magic.”

“Amazing. Your mother must be a spectacular swordswoman.”

“She was.”

The enthusiasm of the Prince was extinguished. “My apologies.”

“Do not concern yourself. I am proud of my mother.” Robin resettled into position. “Are you ready to begin?”

He was, and he was just as ready to be thrashed again.

…

The Prince did, in fact, insist on showing Robin the library himself after she beat him a few more times. He remained infuriatingly impressed with her skill, and not at all upset for his losses. All in all, the Prince was being charming, sensible, and giving her not a single reason to vehemently oppose an arranged marriage to him.

“I am curious about something,” Robin interjected, when the Prince was desperately trying to speak to her of a Feroxian classic novel and horrifically butchering its meaning. “How does Ylisse propose to make peace with Plegia? Tensions seem to be rising, but Ylisse claims not to want another war.”

For the first time, Robin saw the Prince’s open expression close off, to be replaced with grim caution. Perhaps there was some hope for him. “There are a couple of proposals. Emmeryn hopes that the Queen will agree to an in-person peace talk, but Queen Plegia is… frustratingly difficult to communicate with. She’s threatened and sent back every ambassador we’ve sent to Plegia.” Robin did not smirk. “We don’t even know her name. We know she has a child, who leads their military, and maintains the countryside.” He paused. “They allow anyone in their military, if they have the skill. It’s a good concept, that I’ve tried to incorporate as the head of the Shepherds.”

 _What_? “How so?”

The Prince smiled. They were no longer trying to make it to the library. “The Shepherds are our elite force, and separate from our church and our Exalt. After my father, it seemed… necessary to have such a thing.”

“Do you not report to the Exalt?”

“I do. But I am not required to. If I were to disagree with the Exalt, I would not face legal repercussions if I did not follow her orders. The Shepherds are designed to maintain peace and order—even if that means standing up against our own.”

“Because of your father,” Robin said, stunned. She had no idea.

“I also share the leadership of the military with General Irwin. The Pegasus knights and my sister’s personal guard serve only her, and the General reports to her first—the Exalt _is_ our leader—but Emmeryn has shared some of the military power with me. After our father, it seemed like we needed some sort of balance of power.”

“That’s… rather brilliant.” It alleviated some concern Robin and her mother had about a repeat of the Holy War fifteen years past. “And how do you fare, leading your nation’s military and Shepherds?”

The Prince smiled, but it seemed too bright to Robin. Trying too hard—or perhaps, was he still that green? “Well enough. If it comes to war, my answer will likely be different, but we hope that Queen Plegia also desires peace. If she would only agree to meet with Emmeryn! Who could want war after they’ve met with Emmeryn?”

Morgana would not be impressed with Emmeryn, and for all their talks of peace, her mother needed something more solid than well wishes and peace talks.

The wound on each country was many centuries deep.

Gazing at the Prince’s guileless, smiling face, Robin wondered if marrying him would suffice as a bandage. She could see the faces from the tapestries at home of all of her family who had been slain by the exalted ones, and she knew many of the names of those her own family had cut down. There were likely more than she knew off hand. The blood between their families alone was a gap that seemed to big to cross, let alone between their countries.

Would marriage even be enough?

…

Compared to Plegia, anywhere else would be cold. Ylisse, certainly, was far more temperate than their northern neighbor of Regna Ferox, which had snow most of the year. Ylisse had a winter, but it rarely snowed, and if it did, only for maybe a week. It usually only rained heartily. It was supposed to be lovely.

Robin hated it. There was a chill in her bones she couldn’t escape, despite the warm sun, but she suspected that had to do with the effigies of Naga and the symbol of the exalted ones everywhere she turned. Even the dark magic that flowed through her veins to steal her enemies’ life during battle felt better—it was a peaceful, still, and silent cold, that was at once invigorating.

But the child she got surrounded by people who would kill her if they knew her identity… Or worse—death would likely be a mercy if they found out her identity and lies. Ylisse would position her as a bargaining chip in peace treaties, and as her mother had no other heirs, she would, at the very least, be forced to listen. However, their familial relationship was no guarantee that her mother would give in to Ylisse’s demands… Morgana knew her daughter’s wishes far too well than to succumb to such a ploy, and neither mother nor daughter were insistent on the idea that an heir must be blood-related.

If Robin was exposed, she would be on her own, she knew.

Well, mostly. Gaius would try his damnedest to extract her, but he still had so much room for improvement. He had broken into many Ylissean treasuries, but extracting a person was a different matter.

Ah, Gaius. She would miss him if she had to marry the Prince. He was such a lovely bed partner… Ylisseans were such prudes. Magic existed to prevent pregnancy after a liaison, but Ylisse deemed it dark magic, and unacceptable, and thus limited their women’s bed partners to only their lawful husband.

This was a future Robin had to contemplate. It seemed horrifically restrictive.

And yet… for her people, for her country, and for her home.

After six days, Robin knew well the public spaces of the castle. The Prince had been thorough in his attempt to impress her, and the castle did not want for beautiful art; sculptures, paintings, and stained glass were nearly everywhere she turned. The castle itself seemed like a church of Naga.

Though Robin did enjoy the library, as well as the many gardens. Plegians took advantage of the many underground springs, the water from which ran through the Plegian castle she called home, as well through the plumbing of the entire capital. Ylisstol used the rivers the mountain the castle was situated for its plumbing, but the naturally flowing rivers allowed for the fresh and wild gardens of Ylisstol. The inside of the Plegian castle had climbing ivy and gardens by the many pools, but none in the natural outdoors.

At least, if Robin had to remain in Ylisstol as the Prince’ bride, she would have some places of respite.

The market in Ylisstol was at its busiest at high noon—people came out to shop, to eat, to socialize. Markets in Plegia were typically conducted at night, dawn, or dusk. No one liked to be out when the day was hottest. Many Plegians operated on an nocturnal schedule, for that reason, which contributed to their already seedy reputation as dark mages and worshippers of a dark god.

As it was, the market was bright, cheery, and noisy. Finding Gaius would be difficult.

And to make matters worse, Robin was not alone.

“First, we simply _have_ to get you some more clothes. Certainly, your clothes are sufficient when you’re traveling alone on the road, but to spend significant amount of time in the castle, with our Prince! Truly, and utterly, shameful. We must find you something better.”

Worst, it was Lady Maribelle, heiress of the duchy of Themis.

The lady had invited herself along. Robin had been leaving the barracks, after informing Sumia and Sully that she intended to attend the market, when Maribelle had appeared and said that clearly Robin needed and expert eye in order to accomplish any respectable purchases.

And now, the shopping excursion has become a mission to make Robin respectable-looking company for the Prince. According to Maribelle, Robin could never be just respectable, what with being of (presumably) low birth. “Chrom does not appear to care, of course, and I admit, you do have very admirable qualities, both of mind and body.” Robin felt as though this was quite a compliment, coming from this lady. “That is no excuse to look to be part of the rabble. Dearie, if you expect to spend much time around nobility, you must at least look the part. I admit, you have rather fine manners, for a peasant.” Robin hid a smile. If only Maribelle knew… though Robin was surprised that the lady considered her manners to be fine. She imagined that she would come off as quite crude, in Ylissean standards. Robin’s act must be better than she thought.

“Now, for your colouring… I imagine something purple would look quite fine on you. Red, too, though red might be a bit too bold, and even something dark might appear too bright on you. Something a bit on the cooler side of the spectrum, like purple, blue, or green would be much better.”

Grimleal robes were purple. “I rather like blue.”

Maribelle smiled. “You would, wouldn’t you?” Robin claimed to be clever and quick, but it took her a second to understand Maribelle’s statement.

“That’s not what I meant!” Robin cried, but the lady continued on and entered a shop.

“Sword fighting and magic… I suppose your outfit would be a good template for something new. We need to be practical; of course, you can’t get something you can’t fight in too. Though, you should try to wear your old clothes for battles when possible, but sometimes it can’t be help. And, if Chrom’s interest in you persist, you’ll have to get an entirely new wardrobe.” Maribelle paused, with great relief to Robin, only to suddenly shout, “Sarah! Sarah, are you there? I require your expertise.”

A tall, thin, sharp-featured woman stepped out from the back into the room. She smiled, and it looked painful. “Lady Maribelle,” she simpered. “How can I help you this day?”

Maribelle actually snapped her fingers, and Robin felt disgusted by such an entitled display. “My companion here needs a fitting for some better quality clothes, though they should be of similar style to the ones she’s wearing.”

“Of course, of course,” Sarah muttered, and physically pulled Robin to a fitting room in the back. Robin imagined how this would play out if she pulled away from the woman and announced herself as the Princess Plegia. She could imagine the disbelief of Sarah’s face, if she didn’t believe her, and the horror if she did… Robin could envision the guards coming for her, as well. She could see as clearly as they were in front of her, the guards they had past outside in the market, running to Sarah’s guaranteed scream for help. There had been five of them gathered, not far from this store, but there had been more in the area. Three had well-maintained and sharp blades, and two had lances. Robin had a sharp, enchanted dagger gifted to her by Henry that she could cast a Nosferatu spell with, and a Thunder tome, but she would be cornered here. Gaius was likely around, and he was just as likely to die by their blades before he could reach her if he chose to fight. Perhaps he would know to wait for an opportune moment to free her—she should instead surrender willingly, to allow such a possibility. Would that be suspicious?

Robin shook her head, slightly. She would not be so absurd as to reveal herself willingly at this time.

So, sighing, she subjected herself to a fitting.

…

“Are you hungry? There is a lovely place just a few buildings down—Lissa said she was hoping to go there today, we may be able to meet her.”

Robin was, so they did. And indeed, the Princess was there, with the cavalier Stahl from their trip. Maribelle and Robin sat down; they didn’t order more food, as the Princess and Stahl had quite a spread in front of them already.

“Robin! How did shopping go? Did you find anything nice?” asked the Princess. Robin narrowed her eyes.

“Why, yes, I did. I’m soon to be the proud owner of a finely made battle outfit, that will also double as appropriate wear in court. How did you know I was shopping?”

The Princess smirked, in a rather un-princess-like fashion. “I _might_ have suggested it to Maribelle! She knows the best places to shop, and you have been spending _a lot_ of time with my brother!”

That explained so much. Lady Maribelle didn’t seem the type to suddenly take in a pet peasant. “So _you’re_ the reason I had to suffer through a fitting?”

“Please, it wasn’t so bad,” Maribelle sniffed. “And I’m paying for it—how can you complain about free clothes? Show some gratitude. And Sarah’s the best I’ve found in Ylisstol, you’re making out rather well in this deal.”

Well… that was true. Perhaps Robin was being slightly ungrateful. If Robin had been just a talented low born peasant who happened to catch the eye of the only Prince in the Halidom, she would likely be just as much a simpering fool as Sarah. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me. Thank you for your time and generosity, Lady Maribelle.”

And just like that, Lady Maribelle seemed nothing but pleased. “Of course, Robin! Helping the less fortunate is a duty of us noble born.”

“Was there anything else you were looking for in the market, Robin?” Stahl asked.

“Just wanted to explore, honestly.”

“We can do that after lunch,” Stahl said, smiling infectiously. Robin needed to meet with Gaius, but she couldn’t blow her cover, so she agreed.

Lunch was a bit of a trial. Lissa, given her brother’s interest in her, peppered her with questions about her interests and life. Robin kept the former very honest, and the latter only vaguely so. As much as she could be. The princess, though, was even more guileless than her brother, with an innocence that still believes the best in people. Stahl did not come off as particularly clever when it came to seeing through facades, so Robin’s only concern was that Maribelle would not discern anything amiss. Lady Maribelle, for all of her arrogance, seemed shrewd.

Robin, however, was better. She answered the Princess’ questions satisfactorily, without giving herself away and drawing suspicion. And at lunch’s end, she and Stahl parted ways with the two ladies.

“I want to stop at the apothecary for a minute,” Stahl said. “I gave them some ingredients last week in exchange for some concoctions… do you mind?”

There was Gaius, lurking, his bright orange hair giving him away. “Not at all. I wanted to check out that shop over there,” she said, pointing to an armory. “Meet you in a few minutes?”

Stahl beamed, and they parted. Robin meandered to the armory, and within a minute, Gaius was browsing the swords next to her. Silently, Robin handed him a letter, and he discretely pocketed it without speaking to her. Robin selected a set of small, slender knives, easy to hide in most clothing, and bought them. By the time she had finished bartering with the owner and turned around, Gaius was nowhere in sight.

He might still be around—she had initially wanted him to join her as part of the Shepherds, and he might be waiting to be certain that she didn’t need him. He would wait a while during this shopping excursion, and then peek at the letter, and see her note for him. And then he would do as he was told, and leave for Plegia.

Stahl wasn’t in sight, so she entered the apothecary, where he was in fierce debate with the shop owner. She had never seen him look at passionate as he did then—Stahl’s overall demeanor was blandly but sincerely pleasant.

“You need to use a specific type of poppy to get the necessary pain relief in elixirs,” Stahl was saying. “That kind won’t do. The wound will heal, but the pain will remain, which can still cripple a fighter—oh, Robin! Did you get what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Robin said. “But I can wait, while you’re busy.”

“No, no, we’re almost done. My concoctions are already in my bag, anyway, we can get going. Ralph, I’ll be back in a couple days with the poppies you need for the elixirs.”

“You know some about apothecary?” Robin asked, when they left. She believed he had mentioned that, before.

“Yeah! I’m from a family of apothecaries, actually. I helped to defend my village from bandits a few years ago though, and my talent was noticed by Chrom, so I was invited into the Shepherds.”

“How do you find the Shepherds and nobility to be in accepting you, even though you are low born?”

“Oh, there’s no problem within the Shepherds. At least not with those of us who work directly with Chrom.” So informal. Lissa made sense, even Maribelle, as she could be considered almost the Prince’s equal, but low born Stahl referring to the Prince by his first name? “There’s at least a few hundred Shepherds, a lot of us are low born, since Chrom doesn’t discriminate. The nobility, though, well… they don’t _like_ it, but they don’t openly complain, if they do at all. The Exalt’s—” The proper title. Interesting. “—got a pretty tight grip on her court, so I haven’t heard any fuss about it.”

That didn’t mean they weren’t talking. But the Exalt’s father ruled his people with an cold, tight grasp, even when they were suffering from their own crusade. How much did Emmeryn take after her father?

“Why did the apothecary need to use a particular type of poppies for his elixirs?”

“Oh! Well, all poppies do it to an extent, but only one type provides the pain relief needed to deal with the effects of a grievous injury. You know how you get all shakey and cold after a bad wound?” At Robin’s nod, he continued, “The pain relief from this poppy helps with that, since that still happens after the wound is healed by the elixir, as well as your body’s confusion of being suddenly healed—which is a problem with healing staves, still, if the wound’s really bad—but it does tend to make you a little loopy, too, so some apothecaries try to use a different type of poppy, but they just don’t work.”

Robin had heard this effect of elixirs before. “But being loopy on the battlefield…”

“I mean, a grievous enough wound, you need to retreat. That’s really the best thing.” This was true, and what Robin, Morgana, and their captains all ordered in battle. Robin was surprised that Stahl had also come to conclusion. “But the high from the elixir is better than dying! Nothing cures that, and the adrenaline can help. You won’t be at your best, but you’ll still probably live. Maybe. More so than you would using a different type of poppy, that’s for sure!”

Robin nodded. “It’s better to use elixirs and healing staves after the battle, if possible.”

“Elixirs are to keep you alive in case you can’t wait that long.”

“True.”

They made several more stops—Stahl bought a grooming brush for his horse, as well as one for a pegasus. When pressed, he shyly mentioned that he admired a pegasus knight that he hoped to give it to, since she mentioned needing a new one. Robin wished him luck, and she purchased a new set of boots, since hers were wearing out.

It was late afternoon by the time they returned to the castle. Robin hadn’t seen Gaius again.

He ought to be on his way to Plegia, now. To deliver to her mother her letter.

All she had to do was wait.


End file.
